


Dear You

by DramaqueenNmber1



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Gen, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramaqueenNmber1/pseuds/DramaqueenNmber1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the loss of Steve Rogers, Peggy finds that writing letters to her lost love helps keep him close to her heart. With these letters she keeps Steve up to date on her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear You

June, 1945

         Agent Peggy Carter sat at her desk, looking blankly down at the papers that had been strewn there for hours. She had every intention of tidying up and making her space looking orderly as she was. But all she could hear was radio static and those words,  
        “Peggy. . . This is my choice.”  
In a vain attempt to believe in miracles, she had gone to the Stork club. And she had waited and waited. She didn’t dance, she didn’t even listen to the music. She watched couples get closer and sway back and forth. That was the moment she stopped believing in miracles.  
         She brushed her hair back from her face taking a deep breath. What good was wishing anyway? The only way anything happened was through determination and hard work. She didn’t get to where she was simply by sitting and twiddling her thumbs, no sir. And she wasn’t about to start now. But how could she possibly get anything done with that voice, those eyes, clouding her mind? She was smart enough to know that ins this state, in five minutes she would be right back to staring at her untouched papers. Without really thinking she pulls out a sheet of blank paper and a pen. Make a list, compartmentalize, get organized. . . But instead of a neat, underlined title, she writes,  
      “Dear Steve . . . .”  
      Her Grandmother had always complained that she never heard from Peggy. All she got were phone calls. Phone calls had no elegance, no finesse. With phone calls someone could hang up, with a letter, the words were always there. Whether the person read them or not was not the point. The fact that they were there, imprinted forever black on white, that was what made them important.  
      “Dear Steve,  
      How dare you be so reckless. Everyone, including me, is hailing you a hero. But I know what an idiot you are. A late idiot no less. I have been reassigned under Agent Flynn, and he is an absolute lout. I don’t think I have ever tried to deliberately annoy someone, but he makes it quite fun. He reminds me of the men I encountered early in my career. I’m glad I haven’t lost my edge at least. I’m afraid I might. All I do is data analysis and code breaking. I haven’t been out in the field in months. Do you realize how utterly bored I am? I’m not doing anyone any good in here. I feel restless, days and nights are blurring together, they used to be in such sharp focus, because everyday was new, exciting. The thought of this daily drudgery frightens me. How silly must that seem? That I’m frightened of a desk and stack of papers. . . I’ve always suppressed fear, or used it as a motivator. But I’m trapped here, trapped in this endless cycle. I don’t like it one bit. Being afraid makes me think of you, how you gave me hope. . . And how your face must have looked on that ship. It’s an image that makes my heart seize. Please say you closed your eyes, that you felt peace. That would be a comfort. You owe me that much.  
All my love,  
Peggy”  
       Without reading it over, she folds the paper, the wet ink smudging as she does so. She shoves it in an envelope and scrawls his name across the front quickly. Just as she is about to throw it in the bin, something stops her. Maybe the feeling of relief, of clarity that comes over her. Being able to write to him what she could never say to anyone else. A sweet secret between her and Steve. Something both of them could have never had in their line of work. And so she tucks that darling little secret into her desk drawer. Right under the darling little photograph she kept of Steve Rogers.

 

January, 1946  
        Peggy got that feeling again. That muddled, unfocused feeling that made her restless and afraid. But she had found a solution, one that was more difficult to execute.  
       “Dear Steve,  
        The New year has come and gone. I have left Agent Flynn and his band of merry idiots behind me to work with Howard. Which is more of a trial than I care to admit, I’m rather more prone to headaches in his presence than I used to be. Perhaps it’s my body trying to physically block out some of what I have to put up with him. But I am now running SHIELD side by side with Howard. And my life has gotten rather exciting. I blamed you for being reckless, this is me apologizing, as I’ve become a rather large hypocrite. But maybe a bit of recklessness is what one needs to do to get anywhere. I will be honest, I’ve been more than just “a bit” reckless. But at least Howard doesn’t look at me with sympathy. I believe in his strange way, he respects me, maybe even looks at me as a friend. Friendship with Howard Stark, now there is a risk. You would be impressed with some of the advancements SHIELD has made though. Some of the inventions that I have come across. I couldn’t have even imagined them in my dizziest daydreams.  
         How I wish you could be here to see them. I feel like you should be. Do you believe Fate can make a mistake? When we play with such forces. . . When we meddle as though we were gods, does Fate even have any merit? If so. . . I would have never let you into that chamber. Every day it feels as if something is missing. You are missing. I don’t believe for a moment it was ever meant to be that way. I hope you can forgive us someday for taking that from you.  
All my love,  
Peggy”  
        Once again, she smudges the ink and scrawls his name across the thick paper of the envelope. And once again, she tucks it under her picture.

 

October, 1949  
        She was overwhelmed. How he made her laugh, How he held her hand. And how she let him. There was a warm feeling in her heart. It was not the same, but it was still wonderful.  
     “Dear Steve,  
       I am engaged. I don’t know how it happened, well, that is not precisely true. He loves me, and he’s gentle. He talks about you, you saved his life in the war. . . Even after all this time, you are changing my life. I can’t help but feel like I’m lying to him, and possibly myself. I do love him. I truly do. But it’s not the same. Not like it was with you. All these years and you are still on my mind. I suppose you always will be. The time for grieving should be over. I should be nothing but proud that I knew you. And I am, I believe it one of my greatest achievements that you we were so dear to each other. . . But I never got the chance to love you, properly. We never held hands, we never danced. And along with this feeling of joy I have, I feel regret. Regret it isn’t you. Regret that I haven’t moved on. But I love you Steve. I love a ghost, a shadow, but it is love. Even I cannot tell my heart what to do. But he makes me happy Steve. Maybe that is what I need. Happiness. Please forgive me that you never got yours.  
Much love,  
Peggy”

 

May, 1951  
       The day had come, but there was someone she needed to talk to first. She couldn’t go through with it until she had.  
       “Dear Steve,  
        Here I am, clad in white and more terrified than I’ve ever been. Just look at how my hand shakes! It makes my handwriting deplorable. I hope you can forgive that. Howard has payed for the whole wedding and takes such pride in it, you should see him strutting about! Even more peacock like than usual, if that’s even possible. I haven’t eaten a thing all day and the shoes pinch my feet, but I feel beautiful. I wonder what you would say to me now? All trussed up in this frock, lace and silk everywhere. Would you blush? Would you tell me I look beautiful? Is that a selfish thing to wonder? Now more than ever I wish I could hold your hand. But if I am honest. . . If you were here, I hope it would be you on the other end of that aisle. I can hear people chattering outside, Howard’s showing off the flowers. You wouldn’t think it, but he has surprisingly good taste. Not just when it comes to machines or mansions either.  
       My music has started! Wish me luck?  
Much love,  
Peggy”

 

August, 1953  
         Her rounded belly looks as if it’s going to pop. She’s never looked so ridiculous in her whole life, but she doesn’t mind. But it makes sitting properly at a desk a huge challenge.  
       “Dear Steve,  
I am due to give birth to my first child here in the next month. You should see me, I look like I’ve swallowed a planet! And I waddle. Honestly, Agent Margaret Carter, top field agent, waddling! You would laugh if you could see me. Howard does. Every time I walk into a room he does the most infuriating chuckle.  
        I feel afraid again Steve, I never trained to have children. Will I be a good mother? Oh, what if I muck it all up and they hate me? My husband is no comfort, he simply chuckles and pats my hand. I have never felt so unprepared in my whole life. Give me a secret prison full of Nazi’s any day. And yet . . . I have never been more excited to meet someone. I love them already. Maybe I will be alright at this.  
Much love,  
Peggy”

 

September, 1953  
        Sweat coats her brow, and in all her days in the field, she has never been so sore in all her life. She had given birth to a boy. A beautiful, healthy boy who was now being cleaned and checked by the doctors. Even in her exhaustion, she had to share the news.  
       “Dear Steve,  
        My son was born today. He was born at 6 pounds and 8 ounces. I’ve already decided to name him Steven. I’m sorry I didn’t ask, but I prefer to ask forgiveness than permission. I can hear him crying in the next room. Quite a fussy, shriveled little thing. But I’m told that’s normal. This letter will be short . . . I find myself already drifting off.  
Much love,  
Peggy (and Steven)”

October, 1954  
         There had been so much blood. She was dizzy when she had stumbled into the hospital. Steven, Steve, was staying with Howard and Maria for a few hours while she ran some errands, a gut wrenching pain had forced her to collapse in the super market. A part of her knew what had happened, but that did not stop her tears from staining the page she wrote on.  
        “Dear Steve,  
         I lost a baby today. I had even known I was pregnant . . . Two months along. You’d think I would have known the signs. There was so much blood . . . It brings back the worst memories of the war. I thought I had seen it all. I couldn’t protect you . . .I couldn’t protect my unborn baby. I ask forgiveness so frequently. But now I understand I don’t deserve it.  
Much love,  
Peggy”

 

March, 1956  
           After her stay in the hospital, Peggy had grown distant from her husband. She even moved into Steven’s bedroom, she slept, curled up with her baby boy. Who was growing far too quickly from baby to little boy. But there were nights when she felt the need for her husband’s arms. She almost regretted succumbing to that need when she felt a familiar nausea wash over her one morning.  
         “Dear Steve,  
           I’m afraid I’m pregnant again. . . I don’t know if I can do it. After last time. I don’t feel strong enough to go through that again. What a failure I’ve become. Afraid of my own body, of my own family even. My comfort is my son. He’s gentle, like you were. Even know he has his head resting on my lap, it’s like he can sense when I’m sad. I need to be strong. It’s just become so difficult.  
Much love,  
Peggy”

 

May, 1956  
         She watched him slam the door of his car, his suitcases in the back. Steven clinging to her skirt, tears tracked down his round little face. But she refused to cry, she’d lost before. But this wasn’t loss, it was abandonment.  
       “Dear Steve,  
        It’s just me and Steven now. And his growing sibling. I’ve been strong, and I have faith that this baby will make it. I’ll raise them both on my own. I’m no stranger to loneliness . . .But it still hurts. I love him still, even as I just watched him drive away without a word to me or our son. I despise people who can’t face the consequences of their own decisions. I feel tired Steve. . . But I’ve been weak long enough. My children need me. I’d like to think you would agree with me. Is this how you felt? In that ship? That your life was no longer first and foremost? I think I’m finally beginning to understand Steve. I truly do.  
All my love,  
Peggy”

December, 1959  
            Howard and Maria had been a godsend to Peggy. With Maria able to stay home while Howard worked, she was more than willing to take Steven and his new sister, Natalie. She was strong for them, she had built herself up and never looked back at the crumbled version of herself that she had left behind. Maria had insisted that she and the children spend Christmas with her and Howard and she was glad for the chance to relax.  
       “Dear Steve,  
       It has been a long time hasn’t it? Steven has started school and is absolutely brilliant. I can hardly keep up with his energy. Howard has given him a little Captain America shield for Christmas, and he has not put it down since. Knowing Howard I have my fingers crossed that it is just a toy shield and no surprise water guns pop out of it. And my sweet Natalie, quiet, but a handful when she wants to be. Never have I heard a creature that small sing so loudly. I’m sitting here in the most comfortable chair I have ever experienced in my life while Maria Stark reads in the chair next to me. She has been the most wonderful friend, and loves hearing about you. As the years go on, I realize how short our time truly was. Yet it doesn’t feel that way.These letters don’t fit in my desk drawer anymore, but now have a box of their own in my wardrobe. I suppose because of these I’ve felt you have been with me this whole time. Merry Christmas Steve, and may we have many more to come.

All my love,  
Peggy”

 

July, 1970  
            The years had been kind to Peggy and her children. SHIELD made sure they were all taken care of, and Steven and Natalie had been able to get the best education available to them. Steven was a brilliant writer, and Peggy loved when he would sit and read what he had written to her. Natalie had gone on to become so passionate about music, she signed up for every musical and theater based extra curricular she could find.Now that her children were growing older, Peggy found herself at home alone more often than not. And that meant alone with her thoughts.  
       “Dear Steve,  
       How time goes by. And I can honestly say that I have not minded things settling down some. Howard and Maria now have a son. Born at the end of May, Anthony, Tony, Stark already resembles his father. It almost makes me laugh. Natalie loves to go over and hold him and she is one of the only ones he’ll smile for. Steven has had his own fair share of girlfriends. I suppose being a writer and a poet has a certain draw to it. But my children are not the only ones growing old. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve colored my hair twice in the past year. I’m not quite ready to be grey yet, I don’t think it’s my color if we’re being honest. But hopefully I’ll get used to it one day. Natalie did my hair this last time and I very nearly looked like a firetruck. How strange it is. . .I wonder if your hair would be turning grey. I think you could pull it off much better.  
All my love,  
Peggy”

March, 1991  
            Peggy had held Tony’s hand. He looked at the ground, his dark brow furrowed, his chin trembling, but tears never falling down his face. Whereas Peggy let them silently fall down her face. She and Howard often fought in the years before he died. She saw how he neglected Tony, openly cheated on Maria. He became an old bitter man with nothing but his machines and his technical empire for company. It made him cold. Peggy didn’t mourn that man, she mourned the man who flew her into Austria behind enemy lines, the man she had built SHIELD with. She mourned her friend. And Maria, who had practically become a sister to her. Maria, who had helped raise her children. The whole thing left a bitter taste in her mouth. The circumstances of their death on the other hand, only left suspicions in her mind.  
         “Dear Steve,  
         I buried Howard and Maria today. I’ve grown tired of burying my friends. Of saying good bye. It is a part of life, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it! Especially when there are so many questions unanswered. At least for Tony’s sake, I want to look into this. Howard may have been reckless in most walks of life, but driving was most definitely not one of them. If I do find there was foul play, those behind it will have me to deal with. I may not be as young as I used to be, but I’ll be damned if I let this go. I’ve let those I love go too easily in the past. I won’t let it happen again.  
All my love,  
Peggy”

 

February, 2013  
          How useless she was, lying in this little bed. Steven had insisted on moving her into this home, his concern wasn’t unfounded of course. She had forgotten where she was and had wandered off, nearly getting run over. So when she began babbling that Steve Rogers was alive, that he had come to see her, they took it as the ravings of a senile old woman. At least until a tall blond man began visiting her.  
           “Dear Steve,  
           I stopped believing in miracles so long ago. I had forgotten what hope felt like in my heart. But you sat by my bed not two hours ago. I felt the warmth of your hand. I know my mind is not so clear anymore, but I could never forget that. It’s been so long Steve. . . To see you alive was like seeing Steven or Natalie the day they were born. I feel hope again. I’ve watched the world fall to pieces around me. But you are here now. I’m sorry I’ve gotten so old but you. . . You have not changed at all. I hope you come and see me more. I hope we can talk. Come back soon Steve, I lived too long without you.  
All my love,  
Peggy”

April, 2014  
          She felt disoriented, her Steve had come back. When had he done that? He was dead. . . And yet there he sat, handing her a glass of water. Oh yes. . .he had come for advice. She reached for pen and paper before the thought slipped away again, as they so often did anymore.  
         “Dear Steve,  
         I am an old woman. Back when we met, I knew so much of the world, I felt I had it in the palm of my hand. Anymore . . . Well, I don’t see this new world so clear. But I do know it needs you. There are some things that never change. And one of those things is that the world does not need a soldier, does not need a superhero. . . But the world does need a good man. That much has not changed about this world, and I know that has not changed about you. We need to start over, my generation rather mucked things up. And I believe with my whole heart you are just what is needed to help give it that push.  
         My darling Steve, there is so much I have been afraid to say. To you and to myself. So much I would not let myself feel for the fear of hurting too much. But you deserve to know, I owe you that. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time to make things up to you. How much I need to apologize for. I got to live my life, you never got to live yours. It makes me almost regret letting you into that chamber so long ago. It’s such a selfish thought. A selfish plea to Fate I made because I wanted you by my side. But I must ask one more thing of you Steve. The wish of an old woman, an old friend. Don’t regret the time we never had. Instead, relish in the time you have now. I’ve lived so long. I’ve loved and I’ve lost and I’ve lived. Now, it is your turn. I wish you all the happiness my sweet darling Steve. I love you.  
All my love,  
Peggy.”

June, 2014  
             Steve looked at the pile of papers and files in front of him. His black suit felt too tight, too hot, but he was too tired to take it off. His mind felt muddled. he didn’t know whether to be sad, or angry, or scared. They all overtook him one moment at a time and left him numb. A knock at the door makes him look up from the blur of papers. Tony is standing there, holding an old beat up box.  
            “These are for you . . . Steven Carter said his mom left them for you. Has your name on it and everything.”  
            Steve stands and takes the box. Tony claps him on the shoulder and leaves. Instead of sitting back at the desk he goes over to his bed and sits, his shoulders feeling like they have a thousand pound weights on them. He opens the box and sees old and yellowing envelopes. Each one simply has his name on the front. No return address, just a date up in the corner. He digs through the letters until he finds the earliest one. It was dated June, 1945. Almost 70 years to the day. He opens it carefully, the paper feeling fragile and practically alive in his fingers.  
          “Dear Steve . . .”  
          He doesn’t get any sleep that night. He goes through letter after letter, tears running, unabashedly down his cheeks and nose into his shirt collar. By the time he reaches the most recent one, written only 2 months ago, his sheets are littered with varied yellowing pages with smudged ink. He traces the tips of his fingers over the scrawling penmanship, trying to imagine her in her white wedding dress, hands shaking. Or in the comfy chair Howard Stark’s home. He tries to imagine her holding her newborn son and daughter, her cheeks pink with exertion, but her eyes twinkling.  
         As the city lights up in the night, Steve finishes the last letter. The words written so shakily he had trouble reading some of them. Going back to his desk he sits, shoving the files out of the way, and picking up a pen and blank sheet of paper, he writes the only words that come to mind,  
       “Dear Peggy . . . “


End file.
